


I've Got You

by motomoyo



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Durincest, Everybody Lives, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Sibling Incest, Thorin's A+ Parenting, some porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motomoyo/pseuds/motomoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've got you. Don't worry, I've got you."</p>
<p>The story of their lives. Alternate everyone lives ending, because I'm a hopeless sap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got You

**Author's Note:**

> This entered my head at about 2 AM and wouldn't shut up until I wrote it. I started to end it before that last little section, but I just couldn't. 
> 
> Tumblr: prince-of-erebor.tumblr.com. Open to prompts, etc etc!

In seven words his tiny world, full of little else but family, play, and his tiny baby brother, was shattered: "Your father will not be coming home."

Tiny fists knotted in his uncle's clothes, and he cried, cried, cried. Thorin, head bowed and features stoic in grief, had held him tight until his sobs had faded into exhaustion, and then his uncle had tucked him into bed that night while his mother had tended to the baby and bore her own grief.

"Don't leave me," he'd said, voice ragged and raw, tiny fingers curled in Thorin's sleeve. His uncle hadn't even hesitated; he told him stories and sang songs until the boy fell asleep, late into the night.

The words he fell asleep to lingered forever in his memory, wrapped and tangled around the memory of his father: "Don't worry, Fíli. I've got you."

Dark beard, yet clean of grey; rough hands made gentle with love, songs of a distant mountain and glory and loss, face etched with age beyond his time.

 

**

 

"Make room for your brother, go on."

Fíli obediently scooted back on the pony, wriggling backwards until there was enough room for Thorin to heft his squirming brother in front of him on the small scruffy little mare. "Sit still, you'll make her mad," Fíli huffed, and Kíli - dark hair ever wild and unruly - twisted back to stick his tongue out at him.

Thorin gave a ghost of a smile and patted the pony on the rump. "Go on, take her around."

Fíli thumped the mare with his heels - his legs barely reached halfway down her sides - and reached around his brother to get a handful of the reins, telling his brother self-importantly, "I'll show you what to do, just do what I do."

"He's too young, Thorin," Dís sighed, coming over to worriedly watch; the younger son was busy wrapping his fingers into and tugging fiercely at the ever-patient pony's mane while the elder told him bossily to no, _no_ , stop _doing_ that; the pony plodded patiently, ignoring the children's antics.

"He isn't. The younger he is the better." Thorin still kept a keen eye on them, though, folding his arms across his chest as Kíli loudly hollered for Fíli to make it go faster and the pony obliged by plodding just a bit faster.  "Besides, Fíli won't let him--"

The pony stumbled; both boys, precariously perched, tipped off her shoulder in a cascade of limbs, and Dís gasped, brushing past her brother in a hurry and giving him a sidelong glare.

When the pair got there, though, a dusty Fíli was tugging a sniffling Kíli up to his feet, warding off tears with a beaming smile. "It's okay, Kee, I've got you, you're fine, look, we can get back on now."

Thorin, picking up the reins from the patiently waiting pony, just sent a wry smile over toward Dís, and she sighed, fondly exasperated.

The boys stayed out there, laughing and bouncing and falling a half dozen more times, until the sun waned below the horizon and their uncle made them put the pony up and wash up for dinner.

 

**

 

"Ssh, you're making too much noise."

"You're the one talking!"

"You're louder!"

Lanky adolescents, the brothers crept through the house, and Kíli snuck through the moonlit hall to the door; creaking it open with infinite care, he gestured wildly to his brother, who stuffed a few more things into his pack and weaseled out the door.

Their run down to the barns was wild and loping, paired with laughs and shoves and arms flung around each other's shoulders, silence forgotten. The ponies weren't even saddled; they both pulled a bridle off the wall and clambered on bareback, and nudged the ponies into a gallop, racing up through the rolls and pitches of the land.

These moonlit rides held little purpose and less planning, spurred on by one brother rolling over, eyes bright, and whispering the fateful words across the span of their beds: "Are you awake?"

Kíli won their race to the top of the hill, reining his huffing, blowing pony up while Fíli's labored up the hill, and the younger pulled his pony up in a dancing circle. "I got you!" He crowed, laughing, pride at having finally beaten his older brother. Fíli, laughing, pulled his pony back around, and they settled into a walk, trading the biscuits and sweets that they had pilfered from the kitchens.

The moon was round and bright, the stars brilliant and endless, a sea of possibility. Dís stood by the window, watching the distant forms with a small, knowing smile.

 

**

 

Sword practice: a deadly dance, made clumsy by arms not yet used to their motions. Steadily, slowly getting better, muscles growing used to the heavy swings and repetition of motion.

Fíli, being stronger and older, nearly always had the upper hand; he pressed his little brother relentlessly, untiring, but Kíli gave as good as he got and rarely backed down until Dwalin barked for them to break.

They were older now, dustings of scruff on their faces, their forms beginning to wend away from the lanky athleticism of youth into true hard muscle.

Clash, clang, block, parry; the song they danced to, and the song that made their blood pump hard in their veins.

Fíli swung hard, and the blunted practice blade collided with a terrible grating on the block that Kíli only barely managed to get up in time; the blow sent a shiver down the blade and numbed his hand, and he hissed out a curse as Fíli grinned, pressing until Kíli stumbled back a step.

“I got you,” he said, low, teasing, voice huffed with the strain of effort, and Kíli struggled for a moment more before groaning, “I yield,” in a frustrated grit, and Fíli eased back, clasping his shoulder. “You did well,” he said, and their eyes caught, bright blue on dark, and for the first time it sparked something simultaneously in both their bellies. That gaze lingered for a beat too long before they broke apart, blushing for reasons they couldn’t define.

 

**

 

Kíli splashed into the river first, naked to the waist with his trousers rolled up past his knees. “Help me get it,” he half-whined, cold and shivering, and Fíli stood on the edge of the water, arms crossed for all the world like their uncle. “You shot it in there, _you_ get it.”

The arrow had careened off a rock and splashed into the river, getting swept downstream into a tangle of mossy tree limbs. Grumbling, Kíli splashed about, hit a patch of deep water and fell in to his chest, and his shout made Fíli nearly fall over laughing.

Eventually, Kíli snagged it and splashed back to shore, and, clambering out, crankily stalked over and flung an arm around Fíli’s shoulders. “I got you, you—“

“Hey, what are you---! Stop! I still--!”

His words were cut off with a splash and a shout as Kíli dragged him bodily into the water, and they floundered and splashed and wrestled and half-fought until Fíli broke from him, dripping indignantly and eyes aflame while Kíli’s own eyes danced with bright, delighted mischief.

He started to say something, but then Kíli leaned in and impulsively kissed him, clumsy and imperfect and unpracticed. It only lasted for a heartbeat, and his surprise left his features slack and stunned, and Kíli blushed scarlet. “It was only fair,” he whispered, voice suddenly raw.

The water swirled, cold forgotten, and, with something foreign gnawing at his bones, Fíli leaned in and kissed him again. This one lingered, delicate and innocent but not, and their arms went around each other. Neither knew where to put their hands.

 

 

**

 

Stolen kisses, sleeping together at night: their explorations slowly grew, developing into something they refused to define but couldn’t give up. One would frequently wake up pressed against the other, unsure if it was okay to go further and the other unsure if it was okay to encourage, and so they remained chaste and broke apart, panting and frustrated, when their kisses burned and tongues pressed together and when Kíli caught his teeth against Fíli’s lip just _so_ and Fíli’s hands clutched at Kíli’s clothes like a lifeline.

It wasn’t until the night that Thorin came in and informed them that they would be accompanying him on a quest that they allowed themselves to go further, something in both of them breaking in their excitement to be truly considered worthy of such an endeavor.

Hands pulled at clothes as their lips pressed against one another, gasps torn from each other’s throats. The first touches were fevered and urgent, cocks pressed together, slick with arousal with both their fingers wrapped around them, and when Kíli went still after only a handful of strokes and keened into Fíli’s mouth and shuddered against his body, Fíli wasn’t far behind.

They lay panting afterwards, breathless laughter brushing against each other’s faces as Kíli took a handful of Fíli’s hair and pressed their foreheads together.

 

**

 

The trip was wrought with danger and not much time to be alone, but they stole time here and there. Even the quiet moments, leaned against each other, were treasured and necessary, and grounded them both.

It wasn’t until Rivendell that they truly got a night to themselves, and they had stolen each other away as soon as they could escape the eyes of the company.

They were nervous, now faced with what they knew would be That Time. They spilled into the bed, kissing with the kiss of lovers, lips immediately parting against familiar ground. They took their time, slowly peeling off each other’s clothes, fingers roaming over each other’s naked bodies, stroking each other with lazy, squeezing strokes not meant to bring to completion.

Fíli’s fingers gradually grew more adventurous, slipping down, down, wetted in his mouth; Kíli had gone stiff at first, fingers bruising, until by lucky accident Fíli found the spot that made his back arch and his breath to catch. And, when Kíli slid unsteadily atop Fíli to straddle him, eyes sure but unsure and questioning, somehow they both knew what to do.

Fíli kissed him, lingering and chaste, and murmured against his mouth, “Only if you want to,” and Kíli’s breath caught. “I’ve been wanting to for so long, Fee.”

It was pure, loving and needy all at the same time. _Yes, yes, like that, don’t stop, I’m fine, oh_ god _Kíli._  Fíli came first, buried deeply in his brother and groaning softly, wordless and yet so eloquent in the language of sin. Kíli was soon after, and they slumped against each other, sweating and trembling, and Fíli whispered huskily against Kíli’s cheek: “I got you,” in a way that was so deep with affection and happiness that Kíli felt his heart swell.

 

 

**

 

Blood, so much blood. Fighting, orcs, death. The battlefield raged, and the brothers fought side by side, desperate in their need to keep each other alive. They were both exhausted, muscles burning, minds numbed with the constant stream of battle and lack of sleep.

It was Kíli who took a blow first, taking an arrow and stumbling with a cry that made Fíli see red. “ _Get away from him!”_   he roared, barreling into the orcs with the ferocity of ten. They fell, until he was finally shoved from his feet, the icy ground coming up to meet him with a shocking thud.

The pain came seconds later, roaring into him, and he felt Kíli’s hands on him, pulling, pulling him closer.

His brother’s hands, bloodied, knotted in his armor. Tears streaked unbidden down his face, and he pressed his lips desperately to Fíli’s, and Fíli kissed him back while stifling a cry of his own, eyes wrenched closed. _Not like this, no, not like this, not here—_

“I’ve got you, Fee, I’ve got you,” the younger whispered, and they grappled onto each other until their fingers were too weak to grip.

Their blood ran in rivulets, twining together and tangling, pooling, warm in the ice, as they slipped into blackness together.

 

**

 

The sun rose and fell, and days slipped by unnoticed in a fog of pain and sleep.

They were finally awoken by a heavy sound at the door, a thud, and they stirred to heavy fingers in their hair.

“Thorin,” Fíli had whispered first, voice murky and heavy and strangled with sleep, and Kíli had made a noise that was somewhere between shock and relief.

Thorin fell to his knees between their beds, features a mask of pain and relief, and he kissed both their heads, rough and brief but full of more affection than he had shown them in so, so long.

The tale of the battle didn’t need to be retold between them. They all bore the scars. And as the two nephews allowed themselves to truly feel like everything was _over_ and let that relief sink into their bones, Thorin clutched them both tight.

“I’ve got you, boys. We’re done. We’re here. We’re _here_.”

The scars that all of them had were still angry and red, raw, but they would eventually fade. They would become stories as they grew old; stories to tell the children, and for the brothers to trace idly as they lay in bed together. White lines, irregular and vicious, trailing patterns and maps and notes on their skins of a song long in the making – a song of a mountain, proud, and of the line of those who would never let it fall. 


End file.
